


it's in his kiss (that's where it is)

by wildcard_47



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:02:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the tumblr prompt: "Something you said with no space between us."</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's in his kiss (that's where it is)

Ginsberg tugged anxiously at the sleeve of his plaid jacket as they approached Dawn’s doorstep in the hazy afternoon light. The past few weekends, after they’d come back from the movie theater, there’d been kids from her building playing outside on the steps. He guessed it was probably too hot to hang around the stoop today. It was the middle of August; muggy and disgusting. You could practically taste the humidity in the air.

“So, did you—uh—like the movie?”

God, he’d already asked her that. Jesus. He was such an idiot. _Fuck!_

Dawn didn’t seem to mind; when he snuck a look to his right, she was grinning, teeth and everything.

“I liked Sidney Poitier.”

“Oh,” he said, blushing a little at the tone of her voice. He liked it when she’d talk to him like that, in her gentle teasing voice. “Well, sure. He’s a—good-looking guy, I guess.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, and jammed them into the pockets of his corduroys as they walked up the stairs to the door of her building. When they got to the top of the concrete steps, he couldn’t help stopping in his tracks. Usually this was the point when Dawn put a soft hand on his arm, and said she’d had fun, and that her mom was probably watching from the window, so he should go.

“Well—um,” he stumbled over the words. “Thanks for coming with me. I—I’d better get back. You know. Morris is, uh—”

“Michael.”

He startled when she said his first name, staring at her with wide eyes. Usually he didn’t like people calling him Michael; it made him feel like he was in school, about to get sent to the principal’s office, or at the doctor’s—around people who didn’t know him. It sounded nice when she said it, though.

“You can walk me to my door,” Dawn said next, and produced her keyring from her little purse, just like that.

He knew he looked confused. “But—this _is_ your door.”

She just laughed, and pushed it open with a hand, removing her gleaming key from the lock and motioning for him to follow her inside. The hallway was dim, narrow and quiet, and it smelled musty like an old cat lady’s apartment. Ginsberg looked right and saw a tiny wooden table stacked with mail – stuff sent to people who’d moved, maybe – and a couple of kids’ bikes crammed into the same corner.

Just across from this wall, a few yards up from an old rickety elevator that looked like it hadn’t moved anywhere since the Depression, was a green-painted door marked 2A, with a little artificial flowerbox nailed under the peephole.

Dawn made a little gesture toward this, like she was showing it off.

“My door.”

“Oh,” said Ginsberg, not sure what she wanted him to say. “It’s—nice.”

She was fumbling with her housekeys, now, spinning one back and forth on the small brass keyring with one hand. He didn’t know why she was doing that. God, and she looked so beautiful in this kind of light, too, the way the sun streamed through the tiny transom above the front door, lighting her up from one side. It played over her bronze skin and her little gold hoop earrings and smiling eyes and it made him—just crazy. She looked like a movie star.

“Isn’t—” he had to swallow to get the words out, and tried not to stare too much. “Isn’t your mom gonna see us?”

Dawn stepped a little closer. Her mouth quirked into a smile.

“Mama,” she began, lowering her voice in a way that made his stomach jump, “is at the revival. Along with our upstairs neighbors.”

Oh—so when she said he could—she meant that he—oh, my _god_.

She was standing so close he could reach out and put one hand on her waist—and so he did, slow and careful—and then she stepped a little closer, and there was hardly any room between them now. Ginsberg could smell her floral perfume, and every time she breathed out he could feel the breeze against his neck. His palms were splayed against her ribs and his pulse was hammering in his throat and she was tilting her head to one side, staring up at him – waiting for him to –

“Dawn, I’ve never—” he gasped, trying not to look at her as he spoke. “I mean—no one’s ever—kissed me back.”

_I don’t know how to do it right. What if I’m bad at it? What if it’s weird?_

Shit, did he say all that out loud? What a putz. But Dawn just put a hand to his face, letting out a tiny breath through her nose, like she was relieved.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

She leaned forward again. He closed his eyes.


End file.
